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I’ve asked people that question before, many times. It just seemed like the most natural question to ask once you’ve met someone and their spouse. Because the most next logical step after marriage is children, right?

But what if nature doesn’t agree? What if you are trying to have children and you cant? What if you’ve just come from an appointment at the Doctor’s office and you’ve heard “Well, if you want to have children naturally, it probably won’t happen.”

Then that question becomes an accusation. Why can’t you have children? What’s WRONG with you?

Because no matter what, no matter which party has the biological issue which has made conception difficult, it’s always your fault. In your mind, it’s your fault.

My husband and I are going through this, or rather HAVE been going through this. In the first few years of our marriage, we were happy to just be married and enjoy each other. I never ONCE thought we’d have an issue conceiving – after all I come from a long line of breeders. Everyone in my family gets knocked up with ease. No one has ever seen a specialist. Heck, my one sister has three – she and her husband share an ice cream cone, and BOOM! They’re pregnant. (I don’t know how this happens, and frankly I don’t want the details). This will be a piece of cake, I thought.

Only it wasn’t.

Our bodies didn’t cooperate with our timetable. I had several eye surgeries in the middle of our “Trying to Conceive” period, which significantly delayed things, until one day I’m sitting (okay on my back spread eagle) in a doctor’s office with a magic wand up my hooch discussing possible medical procedures to ensure that my plumbing is working properly because I’m “older.”

I’m too old.

If I had a dollar for every time someone (usually someone who had several kids in their twenties, BY ACCIDENT!) warns me that I’d better “get moving, you’re getting older,” I swear I’d be able to buy a pair of Jimmy Choos. (I mean, if they made them in my size, which is GIANT.)

So now, I’m walking around with this GUILT that I’ve waited too long, I’m too old, I didn’t do this right or that right, and now here we are. Looking down the barrel of more surgical procedures.

When someone says, “So when are you going to start trying to have a baby?”

I usually respond, “When God brings us one.”

Which, really? What can I say? I can’t cry – that would make everyone uncomfortable. I can’t yell, because really? This idiot is probably just making idle conversation.

What do I WANT to say?

I want to say, “Hey dumbass, we’ve BEEN trying! Would you like to see the results from my Hysterosalpingogram? Or perhaps you’d like to join me the next time I see my doctor and he shoves a light saber up inside my lady place?”

Actually, I’ve offered my iPhone ovulation calendar for viewing a few times. I’ve yet to have any takers, and that shuts down the conversation pretty quickly. And truth be told, I kind of enjoy the uncomfortableness that follows. Because it puts all the icky back on them.

I recognize that people don’t even think about asking such personal questions. It’s become a part of natural conversation. When the fact is, it shouldn’t be. It’s personal and private and my plans for breeding are mine and my husband’s alone.

Recently I’ve come to a happy place regarding our plans to conceive. I won’t reveal them here, because it’s between us. But I will say that we’re having sex just to enjoy each other again (thank GOD!), that we’re concentrating on each other, and I’m not frantically searching the internet every minute. That’s helped my attitude considerably.

What this whole experience has taught me, is that for some, getting pregnant is not the next logical step. It’s a choice and a process, and for some of us, a very emotional one. It’s not a privilege to be pregnant, it’s a blessing. A miracle.

So please don’t ask someone about their plans to procreate as casually as if you’re wondering where they bought their shoes. In fact, don’t ever ask anyone that question ever. Because you never know what someone’s going through. Because they might cry, or worse, show you their ovulation calendar. And you probably don’t want to know the last time your coworker boned her husband.